Angry Lace
by APerfectGrace
Summary: One shot. As the Royal Family ride through the gates of Winterfell, Robb Stark witnesses a glance exchanged between Prince Joffrey and his sister, Sansa. He is not happy with what he sees. Not one bit.


Robb was restless.

He had been standing straight and proud, next to his father, for nearly an hour. A dull ache was making itself known at the base of his spine and he wanted to move. Well, no, in actual fact, what he _really_ wanted was to go and let loose some arrows with Jon and Theon, but he'd settle for just putting one foot in front of the other right now.

It was the King.

A month ago, Winterfell had received the oh-so-delightful-yet-really-inconvenient news that His Grace (and the rest of his bloody family) were on their way towards Winterfell. To visit. To visit the Starks, more specifically.

Robb's jaw tensed, the only outward sign of his restlessness.

In all his life, he had never known King Robert to even leave his keep, let alone King's Landing. He didn't leave the comfort of the Red Keep for just anyone. You had to be pretty bloody special to warrant a visit from the King. Just showed you just how valued the Stark family were, really.

The corner of Robb's mouth twitched in a smirk, a large amount of pride in that thought.

Still, didn't change the fact that the King took his sweet time to get here. By the gods, it felt like a decade since Bran had spotted them on the hills. Maybe it had been and he hadn't realised it.

Behind him, he heard Theon suppress a yawn.

If he waited any longer, he was probably, most definitely, going to fall asleep standing up.

"Where are they? I'm _bored_," he heard his little sister whine from his right.

Robb fought the urge to laugh.

In all honesty, his sister had just voiced his exact thoughts. Arya was nine years old, and was the reason their mother Catelyn had more than her fair share of greying hairs. She was quick to annoy and even quicker to become annoyed. She was definitely a handful, and the job of handling her was usually delegated to either himself or their half-brother Jon. She listened to them the most, out of everyone else. Robb and Arya were more alike than people gave them credit for; he was just as spirited and restless as Arya. He just knew how to hide it better.

"Arya, _shut up_," Sansa, his other sister, hissed.

Robb smiled to himself.

If Arya was the spirit of the Stark family, then Sansa was the grace. You couldn't find two sisters more different; they were like mud and honey. They just didn't mesh together. Sansa was only eleven, but she was, without a doubt, the most beautiful member of the Stark family. To be perfectly honest, she gave most of the North a run for their dragons.

Sansa was elegant, refined and every pore radiated perfection, from the copper-coloured waves of her hair to the azure shine of her almond-shaped eyes. Arya, on the other hand, was dark haired, dark eyed, and dark minded. Her mischievousness was legendary across the span of Winterfell, and her mother was hard-pressed to get her daughter to act like a lady.

Sansa and Arya really did not get along. They were so different; the only thing that they seemed to share was the family name. Every time one spoke, it would irritate the other. Even with the oncoming presence of the King, they couldn't speak to each other in a civilised manner.

Really, it was any wonder that they hadn't killed each other yet._ That_ would have been an interesting reception for the Royal Family.

"Hey," their father warned, shooting a glance in their direction.

No sooner had the word escaped his lips, then the sound of galloping hooves made their way towards the gates of Winterfell. Beside him, Robb heard his father breathe in deeply, and he re-straightened his posture, his chin leading forwards.

The first riders burst into view, charging across the yard.

A collective intake of breath seemed to wash over the people of Winterfell, their eyes focused entirely on the assembly of riders entering the gates.

Robb's vision swam with dancing lions and stags on rippling banners: the black stag of House Baratheon, and the crimson and gold lion of the Lannister family.

The bannermen rode past them, making their way into the castle keep without changing speed. Different men were making their way towards them now; Robb could spot the white cloaks of the Kingsguard, the gleaming helm of the man they called the Hound, and the gilded carriage of the Queen further down the dusty road that wound down towards the South.

Somewhere, between the Kingsguard and the carriage, someone rode through the archway on a decorated horse, someone much smaller than the tall, proud men of King's Landing.

Prince Joffrey.

Robb fought the urge to roll his eyes.

A boy of twelve, Joffrey was the eldest child of the King and Queen. Riding along the Kingsguard, he looked like a flea amongst an army of beasts, so much so that it was almost comical. Regardless, it was perfectly clear that he was of royal blood. His head was held high, his posture was graceful, and he was bedecked in a crimson doublet, decorated with gold cloth and adorned with an array of jewels that befitted his family rank.

Prince Joffrey may have looked like royalty, but Robb was quite aware of the boy's true nature: a whiny, bratty child who hid behind his mother's skirts and expected the world to fall its knees and worship the ground he walked on.

Robb inwardly snorted. _Fat bloody chance of that_.

He was about to watch the carriage making its way up to the archway when he caught sight of something strange: Sansa was looking away from the gates and off into the distance, a small smile playing on her lips.

That was odd. Robb frowned. _What is she playing at?_

She was supposed to be ready to greet His Grace, not staring off into the distance at the gods only knew what!

Her smile was growing bigger, and there was something in her look that unsettled Robb. He turned his head with her, following her stare so he could see what could possibly have caught her attention so intently.

She was looking in the direction where Prince Joffrey had brought his horse to a halt. Robb couldn't spot anything out of the ordinary around the prince; he had pulled up in front of one of the vast stone walls that connected the yard to the castle keep. He was stationary, waiting for his parents to arrive. He was flanked by the Hound, who had opened his helm slightly to get a view of the entourage pulling in.

Robb beheld Sansa again; if possible, her gaze seemed to have intensified and that bloody smile was_ still_ on her face. What was she looking at?

He turned back towards the path of her gaze, determined to get to the bottom of this. Joffrey was now looking in_ their _direction. Now _he_ had a smirk growing on his face! What in seven hells was going on? What was _wrong_ with them?

Robb was beginning to become irritated.

He looked back and forth between his sister and the prince, his patience wearing thin. He was unable to work out what the _hell_ they were looking at that was causing those idiotic grins on their faces and _why_ in the name of Westeros did they have to choose _now_ to become completely brain dead and–

All of a sudden, something in _his _brain clicked.

They weren't looking at some_thing_. They were looking at some_one_. _Each other_.

Sansa was beaming at Joffrey, and Joffrey was more than eagerly returning the favour.

Robb knew that look. It was the look that a boy gave a girl when he was attracted to her and was outwardly smiling at her while mentally envisioning her naked. It was the look a girl gave a boy when she was also interested and wanted him to do more than mentally undress her. It was absolutely _not_ a look that younger sisters of Robb Stark should be giving princes of King's Landing. It was a look coupled with unholy thoughts that sisters of Robb Stark should never, ever, ever, _ever _have.

The cogs in his head were turning at twice their normal speed, and this sudden discovery was making him hyperventilate.

Sansa was his sister. His _younger_ sister. His sweet but annoying, beautiful but green sister. His hundred per cent innocent-going-to-die-a-virgin-because-no-man-was- ever-touching-her-_ever_ sister.

His breathing had become quick and shallow; his eyes were wide at the understanding of what he was seeing.

Sansa wanted Joffrey. _Sansa _wanted Joffrey. Sansa _wanted _Joffrey. _Joffrey_.

As if that couldn't be bad enough to swallow, even more disturbing… Joffrey wanted _her_. His little _sister_, damn it! Joffrey was thinking about his sister the way that _Theon_ thought of the teenage girls that attended Lady Catelyn's bedchambers–

The comprehension of what he was witnessing was so strong he was shocked to find his disapproval forcing itself through his mouth. "_No_."

Sansa's concentration broke and suddenly Robb was met with blue, confused eyes. "Pardon?"

"_No_," he repeated, this time more forcibly.

"I'm sorry?" Sansa whispered, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"Over my dead body, Sansa!"

His sudden outburst caught the attention of Jon and Theon, whose eyes swivelled towards Robb and Sansa. Jon raised an eyebrow and a crease formed between Theon's eyebrows.

"Behave," their father intoned, his eyes firmly on the riders pouring in.

Robb murmured an apology, catching Jon and Theon's questioning looks before turning back to look at Sansa. Her stare was back on Joffrey, and their mirrored smiles were making him want to heave. He cleared his throat, giving himself a few moments to compose his panicked thoughts.

He inclined his head towards hers and lowered his voice. "I'm not blind."

Her eyes never left Joffrey's, the tilt of her head the only sign that she had heard him. "Robb, I don't follow."

Jon and Theon's looks were burning holes into his back. He ignored them, instead focusing on the carriage slowly wheeling across the yard; he didn't want to put his father to shame, although with the thundering of the horses riding by, it was a wonder he could even hear himself. He continued to converse with his sister, his voice low enough so that his father couldn't become angry, but just loud enough for Jon and Theon to hear.

Although, once they heard what was happening, they would probably wish that they hadn't.

He leant closer to Sansa. "I'm following. Your gaze, in fact. I know exactly what you're staring at. Or, should I say, _who_ you're staring at?"

His words sunk into her brain, cause her focus to instantly shatter. Her eyes swiftly turned to him, before dropping her glance to the floor. The apples of her cheeks changed to a rosy pink, ashamed at being caught by her brother. At least she had the decency to be embarrassed.

"You're_ kidding_ me," Theon laughed softly from behind them, having clearly made the connection.

"Joffrey, Sansa? _Seriously?_" Jon sounded as shocked as Robb had moments before.

Robb looked over his shoulder to see Theon grinning at them and Jon with a disgusted look on his face. Sansa squeaked, the rose that coloured her face transforming into a bright red as she grasped the fact that they had heard them, and in turn realising that they knew what she had been doing.

"N-No," she stammered unconvincingly.

Robb tutted. Theon chuckled.

"That was in no way believable, sister," Jon casually remarked.

Her face was practically aflame. "I was just… I wasn't – I…"

"Just forgot your manners?" Robb offered.

"Can't lie through your teeth?" Theon finished.

Jon was staring at her so hard it was making her squirm. "I mean _really_, Sansa, of all people in Westeros, _Joffrey Baratheon_–"

"_Shhh_," she said in a panic, wringing her hands anxiously. "Someone may hear you!"

"Who?" Theon gestured. "The arses on the horses? Honestly, they're so up themselves you don't know where one ends and the other begins."

Jon rolled his eyes, and Robb sighed before turning back to Sansa. "Are you blind? Or deaf? Perhaps both? Gods, Sansa, I mean _Joffrey_, that boy is so wet he could put the whores of King's Landing out of business!"

Theon clamped a gloved hand over his mouth to stop from laughing out loud, and Jon bumped Robb's fist behind his back, smirking hard. Sansa shifted her weight from foot to foot, extremely uncomfortable at being caught out and being ganged up on by her brothers (and Theon, but he was such a pain in the backside that he may as well have been her biological brother).

Maybe it was the joint intensity of their looks, or the fact that they were her siblings, or the fact that they had caught her, or maybe it was the fact they were ganging up on her and acting like such _older brothers_, but the confusion and embarrassment in her face seemed to instantaneously melt away, replaced with a steely glare of defiance and anger.

Theon blinked at the immediate change, a little taken aback.

"What is it to you all, anyway?" she responded heatedly, her voice too soft for her father to hear. "I can like whomsoever I choose."

"Not when it's Joffrey bloody Baratheon, you can't!" Robb replied, just as strongly.

She sniffed, looking at him haughtily. "That's _Prince _Joffrey to you, brother."

"That's right, Robb," Theon butted in jovially, slapping him on the shoulder. "Show some manners!"

"I'll show you my sword in a minute, Theon. Be quiet!" he growled, frustrated at this sudden change in Sansa's attitude.

"It's not your sword I'm worried about. I'd be more concerned with Joffrey showing your sweet sister _his_ sword."

Sansa gasped and bit her lip, her bright red colour deepening to a dark crimson. Jon hit Theon upside the head, outraged but desperately trying to hide a chuckle behind his leather-clad hand. Theon squawked in protest, rubbing his head in pain. Robb was divided between strangling him and trying not to dwell on his perverse words. He uncomfortably noted that, by Sansa's reaction, she had understood him all too well, and briefly wondered when she learned about the types of the things that allowed her to follow_ Theon's_ train of thoughts. He decided he didn't want to know.

"_How_ can you like him?"

"Because," she sighed, her eyes going misty.

"Gods be good," Jon murmured, rolling his eyes.

Theon shook his head, still rubbing it. Women changed emotion more often than the Spider changed clothing. He couldn't keep up with their moods, least of all Sansa's.

"Why?" Robb pressed.

"What's not to like?" she answered dreamily.

Robb felt like throttling her. "His attitude?"

"His rank?" Jon supplied.

"His face?" Theon added helpfully.

She glared at him. "I think he has a lovely face."

The tension that Robb was feeling earlier was laced with spikes of anger. Was Sansa so blessedly naïve? Yes, Joffrey was royalty and rich beyond belief, but apart from that, what did he have? He was arrogant, rude, bratty… The only thing missing was an arrow through the eyes, which Robb was more than happy to provide.

"He's beautiful and kind and a prince and wonderful–"

"Sansa," Jon put in, "you hardly know him."

"So?" she shot back defensively. "I know enough."

"Like what?" Robb fired back. "What do you know about him?"

"I know I love him and we're going to get married and I'm going to have his sons!"

Robb choked on thin air, Jon nearly fell over and Theon made an inaudible noise.

Had she gone completely _insane?_

He must have said that out aloud because she was looking at him with contempt. "I am _not_ insane! Joffrey and I will get married! I love him!"

"Life isn't a fairy tale book, damn it!" Robb was becoming so stressed he forgot to rein in his language. "You haven't even met him before today!"

"Sansa, you deserve a man who will treat you with respect, who will worship the ground you walk on and who will do anything to make you happy because he loves you unconditionally," Jon said gently.

"Not some jumped up little prick who practically just finished nursing," Theon muttered sourly.

"Theon is right," Robb said.

"Bet you never thought you'd say that sentence," Jon said amusingly. Theon glared at him.

Robb ignored them. "I'm sorry, but no. You can do so much better."

"You're too good for him, Sansa," Theon said, still staring at Jon.

"You aren't my father, Theon! Neither is Jon and neither is Robb, no matter what he seems to think!"

"Bloody feels like it," Robb murmured, Jon agreeing.

"_Look_," Sansa whispered, clearly out of patience. "I know how I feel about Joffrey, and I know how he feels about me too. We may not know each other very well, and we may have just met, but you don't look at someone the way we just did without being in love. It's not up to you who I marry, it's up to Father. I'm sure he'll take my choice into consideration because he only wants what is best for his daughter, and I deserve the best. Besides, marrying Joffrey would make me very happy, _and when you love someone unconditionally, you do anything to make them happy._"

She looked pointedly at each of them in turn, making sure they understood. Robb blinked, taken aback at the fury in his sister's voice. Jon flushed at having his words used back against him. Theon shifted uncomfortably, not used to seeing timid Sansa fighting back.

The direwolf was clearly an apt choice for the Stark sigil. No one knew Sansa had that bite to her. Apparently, behind the grace and lace was pure steel.

But that direwolf was Robb's sigil too, and he was _not_ backing down. "Agreed. But that does not mean that I approve of your choice. I'm your older brother. I'm not supposed to like who you marry. Don't forget, _little sister_, Father will also take my views into consideration."

Her lip jutted out in annoyance at his attempt to get a rise out of her, and he could have laughed at how childish she suddenly looked.

"We're your brothers, Sansa," Jon replied, playing the peacemaker. "We only want what's best for you."

"You've never taken interest in my life before!"

"When it comes to the topic of what's in between your legs, we're always interested," Theon commented lightly.

Jon smacked him upside the head, again. "Ow! _What?_ What did I say?"

"_What is wrong with you?" _

"It's not like I said the word cu–"

"_The point is_," Robb cut over Theon swiftly, "when it comes your future and your future husband, we care. We always care, Sansa."

"We just never show it," Jon grinned.

Sansa blushed at his words, in spite of herself.

She looked at Joffrey, who caught her eye and grinned slowly. She turned back and regarded a pissed off Robb, a shrugging Jon and a smiling Theon.

They were her brothers; they would never like anyone she liked. As much as she hated to admit it, they were just being protective. Okay, overly, ridiculously lock-her-up-and-throw-away-the-key protective, but still protective.

Nevertheless, that didn't mean that they could dictate her life and her actions. They were not in control of her. She was in control of herself, no matter what they wanted to believe. A small smile was playing on her lips.

The boys looked at each other; they didn't like the mischievous shine that had abruptly appeared in Sansa's eyes.

Suddenly, their father was making a noise, and they turned just in time to see that the King had appeared in the square on his horse, and was slowly coming to a halt. All talk was momentarily forgotten as the entire population of Winterfell dropped to their knees at the sight of their King.

Robb's eyes were firmly on the ground as he leant on his knee, the past few minutes whirling in his mind.

_Joffrey Baratheon as my brother-in-law, I just can't even begin to–_

He felt a small tug on his sleeve and faced a contrite Sansa.

"Thank you," she whispered sincerely, "Jon and Theon and you. Thank you for looking out for me. I know that you're being my older brothers and that you're being protective. I understand where you're coming from, and I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome," he replied, surprised but touched.

Jon and Theon softly echoed his words, equally as moved.

Silence descended, and the King was in front of their father and gesturing everyone to stand. As King Robert and their father broke into conversation, Winterfell slowly rose to their feet. Robb relaxed, the tension leaving his body at Sansa's words. She had seen the light. She knew that they were right, really, and that she could do so much–

"But–"

With that one word, his thoughts halted, and he felt his shoulders clench. He slowly turned his head to see Sansa staring at Joffrey _again_, a coy smile playing on her face.

_Oh, no. No, no, no. No, damn it!_

"Just because you're looking out for me, doesn't mean I'm going to listen to you. Or Jon. Or Theon."

She looked at each of them pointedly as she punctuated their names with force. Robb inwardly groaned, but she held his gaze, her face unmoving, giving nothing away. Jon and Theon beheld each other.

"My life. My choice."

_Definitely a Stark. Definitely her mother's daughter,_ Jon mused.

"No one is going to tell me what to do."

Theon looked up to the heavens. _It's like going in circles…_

"And…" She turned to Robb, holding his eyes the longest. For once, he felt a small jolt of fear when he looked at his younger sister. She was a surprise, he decided, she made you think she was this meek, shy girl when really–

Her smile widened. "I mean _no one_."


End file.
